Yoshi's Island
by saphira and shruikan
Summary: The remnants of a race must band together to save two twins from a powerful empire. Novelization of the SNES game Yoshi's Island.


**DISCLAIMER: This is the only disclaimer throughout the story, and applies to all chapters. I do not own Yoshi, Kamek, Bowser, Mario, Luigi, the stork, or any of the bosses. ****I DO, HOWEVER, OWN **_**ALL**_** ORIGINAL CHARACTERS:**** these include the other seven main Yoshies, six of the generals, and numerous other people.**

**Rated M for violence, gore, adult themes, torture, angst, sexual references, strong/adult language, needless purple prose, creator's pets, nerdiness, and taking video games way too seriously.**

**YOSHI'S ISLAND**

**WORLD 1: RUFFLED**

_**THE FOREST**_

_**0-0 Welcome to Yoshi's Island**_

_**The Things**_

_I know a story._

_Now, when I say that I know a story, I don't mean that I'm about to recount the boring details of a boring life. I know a story about freedom. I know a story about family. I know a story about hopelessness and suffering and golden-eyed angels and devils in the dark._

_So sit, relax, and prepare to listen, be you furred or feathered, scaled or skinned, for I have befriended them all. Be prepared to know a tale from long ago._

_A long long time ago. . . ._

_This is a story about Baby Mario and Yoshi._

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

The sun was rising over the sea. Though only peeking over the horizon, it illuminated everything as far as the eye could take in, were there any eyes to appreciate it. A large collection of white-and-gray clouds loomed, threatening a morning storm, and shadows and sunlight mixed together on their surface to make a dizzying contrast between light and dark.

These clouds were still, but a tiny speck among them moved. A stork hurried across the dusky pre-dawn sky, its huge wings beating in a steady rhythm. It was a simply beautiful specimen, this stork. Abnormally large, if standing it would have towered over most creatures. Its long feathers were the purest white, save for a curious band of bluish black on the coverts of each wing. Its feathers were unruffled, its beak smooth, its legs unsoiled. Its black eyes sparkled with a curious intelligence. The stork was the only living being among the clouds.

There was something special about this stork. In its bill, it supported a pair of identical cloth sacks. They bounced gently against each other with each pulse of their guardian's wings. Though flying, the stork's neck was stiff and still, as though not to disturb its precious cargo.

It swooped to the side a little, catching a favorable wind that carried it up a few hundred feet. It knew that though above the sea, the summer in the region could be punishingly hot, and the high altitudes helped to keep it cool. With no visible resting place within many miles, refreshing cold was a thing treasured. It wondered how much longer the flight would take, and whether it might have some time to eat something before the delivery of its cargo. After all, there was plenty of time. What could possibly go wrong?

A screech shattered the silence.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

Nothing separated this morning from any other, but still, he felt so very different. He had a headache, for one; he couldn't remember the last time he'd had one. For another, his heart was beating a little faster than usual. Perhaps he was getting sick. And he was tense. There were no factors, no stimulants to account for this, yet he was nervous and edgy. He anticipated something.

This was not a good combination for sleep, and so he had risen. He padded through the passages he knew so well he could traverse them in the dark. He came into the sun and smiled; he missed this. He could not do it often.

He paused, and raised his head to the wind and took a breath. It smelled of pollen and trees and the bogginess of the river nearby. He smelled ozone, and he shivered: there would be a storm soon, at noon if he could guess correctly. Aside from this there was no odd scent, no strange sight. The bugs flew aimlessly in the humidity, and the birds were beginning the dawn chorus, though more subdued than usual, as they too sensed the storm. Everything pointed to a normal day, an uneventful day.

Still, the feeling persisted. Maybe he would patrol today, and make sure nothing was near. He could not think of anything else to do with all this restless energy.

He slunk low to the ground and blended with the grass; his hide was exceptionally good at this, so long as he hid his belly and eyes, which stood out anywhere. When he got to the trees, he leapt into the branches, leaping from one to the other like a squirrel, as though he'd been doing this his whole life. He would circle the hill, perhaps, and the feeling would go away.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

The stork started and dropped a few feet, tense and confused, for it was in the middle of the sea, and where would such a sound originate? It looked about wildly but gently, so it wouldn't startle the sleepers. There were no birds or beasts to be seen, and even if there had been, it had no notion of what could have made such a bloodcurdling noise. Such a strangled, depraved sound – the stork had no desire to meet the creature that had produced it.

The bird was not normally afraid of its feathered brethren, or of any beast; the animals of the world knew that its kind could not be considered prey in any sense, be it for eating or hunting, for that would be a sin most vile, and one that no sane creature would ever commit.

The stork felt the wind change, and turned its head. A shadow appeared in a gap between the clouds, growing steadily larger; whatever it was, it was moving fast, and coming straight for the stork. The bird let slack its feathers and dropped jerkily; it did not know what else to do than to give the approaching thing room, for surely it wasn't coming to attack-

A blue blur shot overhead with blinding speed, faster than anything the stork had ever seen. A mass of red and brown followed it, making strange grunting and groaning noises. The stork wheeled wildly, flapping unsteadily in the mass's wake. The strange things flew a hundred feet away and stopped, hovering, bobbing, and humming like a million bees. The stork turned to avoid the red cloud, but suddenly they shot forth like starlings defending their nests.

They converged on the stork, faster than it could have dodged. Small grubby hands seized its wings, its neck, and its legs. It thrashed, screaming through its closed beak, struggling not to drop the two sacks in utter panic and outrage. _This is a mistake, this has to be a mistake, do you not see what I am?_ It reared its head to see what was holding it.

A nightmare face sneered at the stork. Two enormous white orbs for eyes with no pupils stared through it, while a beaklike protrusion lifted to reveal rows and rows of jagged yellow teeth. The face was brown, but the rest of it was made of a blood-red baggy skin that looked like cloth. A small device, a stick with a whirring circle perpendicular to it, hummed from its head, providing it lift. The hands were small, three-fingered, and mercilessly strong. The stork felt feathers pulled out and flung to the sea.

It tried to flap its wings, but it couldn't fight the combined might of its disgusting assailants. It hung there like a speared fish, held aloft by the many red beasts. It let out a strangled squawk, terribly afraid like never before; no situation described to it could have prepared it for this, no training, no blessing. It had never felt so frightened and confused.

A flash of blue. The stork managed to turn its head and saw the first figure, the blue one, waving a strange sparkling stick as it bolted towards the captivated bird-

Instinct told the stork to panic and fight, to throw off its assailants and save its own life. If it could just let go of its cargo, and shake free of the beasts, it could fly quite fast, and perhaps escape them-

Duty took over, and chided the stork for ever considering dropping the prizes it carried. Self-preservation for only the self was not of its culture, and to drop what it carried would be a death sentence for three. The stork ripped its left wing free of the red creatures; they spun away in a daze and dropped. With one limb freed, it curled its fused spine as best it could and, with a mighty stroke, swept away the beasts holding its left leg. It reached with a clawed foot and grabbed the sacks from its beak, and now with it free-

The last thing the stork saw was its reflection in the eyeglasses of the blue figure as it passed overhead and struck it on the head with the stick. Then there was a burst of bright color, and shapes like triangles and squares dancing in its brain, before _unbearable skull-splitting pain- _

And then it was falling – its wings were useless, and the red creatures were gone, flying around something else and carrying it off, followed by the blue. . . .

Its foot. Its foot was curled around something, and its claws caught in cloth. It managed to open an eye and saw white not of itself, and felt relief- it had protected its charges, and had not abandoned them; now it could die clear of conscience, and-

Die?

No, it could not die yet, for if the stork died, then the infants would die as well-

But the stork had not the strength or the knowledge to save them, and darkness took over its throbbing mind as it and the single sack fell undetected towards the open sea.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

_I'm very old. My color has faded, and I move little. I stay where I sleep, mostly, and sometimes young ones come to visit me and listen. To learn a lesson._

_My mind has grown rather feeble. I know not what age you are, reader, but, if you are youthful, then learn to treasure it. Growing old is not a tragedy, and is completely natural, but you lose much, and you forget. I have forgotten my first job. I have forgotten the general look of many I once memorized, including my parents. I have forgotten where I was hatched._

_But I will never forget some things, and they stay with me as though they have been engraved inside my skull. I will always remember ghosts. I will remember black eyes. I will remember brown. And purple. Red. Green._

_I will never forget my name._

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

His breath caught.

His pupils dilated. His heart began to pound.

He swallowed and took a breath, staring at his hands, which were trembling as though stricken by palsy. He tasted copper in his mouth; his vision was clouded. He could feel the wind pick up furiously, hissing through the trees, but he could not hear it, for all sound had been blotted out by the thud of his own pulse, ringing through his ears.

Confusion, followed by panic, rose in his chest. Something was wrong. He could barely think clearly, and swayed unsteadily where he stood on the ground; his legs felt suddenly weak, as though his body had grown heavier.

Breaking branches. The sound reached him through his pulse, and, in a haze, Yoshi looked up just in time for something large and heavy to plummet from the trees and hit him in the face.

The haziness fled, and sensation returned in the form of stinging pain. His hands, steady and unshaking now, flew up to his snout as he staggered in agony, eyes watering.

Whatever had struck him rolled to a stop a few feet away, and Yoshi shook his head to clear it. It took him a while to focus, and when he did, he froze. He stared at the object and dropped to all fours, tensing. It looked to be a cloth sack, white and wholly unremarkable save for the fact that it had just dropped onto Yoshi's face, and if the ache in his snout said anything, from quite high up.

He stared at it curiously, unmoving. The final dregs of the spell that had gone over him before were now leaving, making room for real wariness. This piece of cloth was clean, so it had not been abandoned in the trees someplace from long ago. No one came this far into the woods without hostile intent anymore, and even if they had, why would they bring a plain white-

It moved, and his reaction was instantaneous. He was in the trees in seconds, diving into the bushes. His green skin, coupled with the long shadows from the morning and the thunderclouds looming overhead, made him seem to disappear. He could have been a moss-covered rock to a bystander, or a dense clump of leaves in a bush.

He lowered his head and stared at the sack, eyes narrowed. Whatever was in it was wriggling around, and definitely alive. It uttered a high-pitched babbling that sounded strikingly familiar, though it took him a few seconds to place it: it was the cooing of a baby. There was a baby in the sack, and it had fallen from the sky and hit him in the face.

"Well," he muttered to himself. "I'm just having an interesting morning."

He could think of no explanation for something like this. No attacking ploy, no war tactic he knew or could imagine involved flying babies. Perhaps they were trying to take refuge in audacity, and lure him out through the sheer randomness. Even as he considered this, he had to recognize it as a good trick; were it anyone less paranoid than he, they might have just stayed near the sack, and fallen prey to whatever ambush it was meant to bring.

Still, the forest remained quiet. The birds had resumed the dawn chorus with barely a pause after being interrupted by the breaking branches, and nothing else seemed to be upsetting them. Animals could usually be relied on when discerning danger.

Apprehensively, Yoshi stood, but he kept himself low, ready to run or duck again if the situation called for it. He looked around at his feet and, spotting a ten or so-foot stick, picked it up and entered the clearing again. He sniffed the air; nothing but the normal smells of the woods, the freshness of untainted cloth, and the spit-skin scent of a child, although this one smelled more like milk and piss than anything, and he wondered how long it had been unattended.

He stopped a ways away from the sack and poked it gently with the stick. The baby squealed and flailed more furiously, but nothing else happened: no explosions, no yelling. Yoshi looked over his shoulders both ways anyway, to make sure. Nothing.

He sidled close to it and tugged the white sack off, revealing the baby underneath. It was a . . . monkey. It was hairless and fat, and rather ugly, Yoshi had to think. Its bright-blue eyes were icy and huge; it stared at him, then the sky behind him, and left and right, apparently unable to take in this environment. It chewed on its little fist, bubbles of spit collecting at the corners of its mouth. A thick, stretchy kind of clothing covered its backside, and on its fuzzed head was an enormously mismatched red hat: a cap, with a red _M_ on its front.

Yoshi blinked and leaned back, half in disgust and half in confusion. If he had to guess, this was a _human_ baby, though he seemed to remember them with a bit more hair, and less franticness. No doubt this one was very early in development, and only recently hatched, or perhaps born. He couldn't remember whether humans laid eggs or not.

He picked up the sack and looked it over; there was nothing unusual about it at all, save for a phrase stitched into one of the edges, in very tiny lettering. He squinted and read it aloud. "Mario Aiolfo."

Yoshi glanced down at the baby and asked, "That's a mouthful. Is that your name?" It unhelpfully did not answer.

He poked it. It giggled and waved its free hand. It felt warm and very squishy, ruling out the outlandish ideas Yoshi had unwittingly thought up of it being an automaton or some such, built to deceive. The name, too, seemed authentic. Humans lived in Mushroom, generally, and spoke a different language; "Mario Aiolfo" was about as Mushroom-sounding a name as one could get.

None of this truly addressed the figurative elephant in the room, and did not answer why a newborn Mario Aiolfo had crash-landed onto Yoshi's face, in the middle of the woods, with no other life nearby. Further, how the child had survived the plummet was beyond him, and though its fall had been broken by Yoshi's snout, it had still fallen at least a full seven feet from there. Any normal baby should have been injured, or at least screaming in displeasure; this thing was giggling and cooing like slamming into people's faces was its normal way of greeting, and Yoshi should be delighted to have experienced it. He wasn't.

Out of habit, he glanced around again and scented the air. Nothing, as always. The ozone smell was getting thicker; the storm was coming, and soon. However the child had come could not matter, only that it was here now, and defenseless on the ground. He couldn't leave it in good conscience, even if its arrival had no explanation.

"Are you a spy, baby?" he asked it, half-joking. "Will I regret taking you home?"

The baby fell silent and took its hand from its mouth. It stopped glancing about frantically and met Yoshi's eyes.

Stared at them. Stared through them.

For the second time that day, Yoshi's senses went haywire. The world tilted, and his pulse thundered in his ears. He was pinned, spellbound; he could not find the will to move, or avert his eyes. He was suddenly overcome with a feeling of peace and goodwill, as though every happy memory at his disposal had converged into one purified good feeling, and he smiled stupidly, feeling outrageously and disproportionately happy.

The baby looked away. The hand returned to its mouth, and it resumed babbling.

Yoshi sat still, and almost tipped over to the side before catching himself. He held his head and shook it, staring at the ground. His hands trembled. His face ached a little from smiling so much; now that he was back to awareness he frowned severely to make up for it.

He would not leave this baby here. He _could_ not leave this baby here.

An earsplitting shriek rang through the forest, raspy and wailing. Yoshi reacted dully, still shaken and giddy, but did react; he scooped the baby up in one arm and threw himself into the bushes, his heart pounding. He looked wildly about, but no movement caught his attention; there had only been the sound, and nothing else. But what a horrid noise it had been. The birds quieted and began to warble lowly to each other, as though murmuring; they were uneasy, and so Yoshi was no longer at ease.

Little Mario Aiolfo evidently did not grasp the severity of the situation and laughed loudly. "Shut up, you," Yoshi hissed, and stuffed it into the sack it had appeared in. The baby did not protest, but squealed with delight, apparently finding it interesting.

He shot a look over his shoulder to make sure nothing was sneaking up on him. Another scream pierced his ears, and he grimaced. A little bit of thunder rolled overhead.

He turned back to the baby. One of its fat legs was sticking out of the opening and kicking indiscriminately. "Okay, you," Yoshi murmured, poking the sack. "You stay here and do _not_ move. I'll be back. Maybe. So no crawling anywhere."

The baby, of course, did not answer. Yoshi rolled it under a bush, trying to memorize what the plant looked like so he could find the sack again. He hissed, "Stay," one last time and slunk away.

Another scream, this one lower and more throaty. Yoshi froze, wincing again, and tilted his head up. It was coming from above and to his left, if he could guess correctly. He moved toward it.

Branches snapping again, and Yoshi ducked his head involuntarily; he was _not_ getting hit in the face by more flying babies anytime today, or ever. Leaves spun to the ground around him, and sticks shaken loose from the tree he was under rained down on his back. He looked up, squinting, but the light from the sun, not yet covered by the storm clouds, made it impossible to see anything high up. He could make out something moving violently at the top of the tree, a thrashing, fuzzy black shape.

Nothing could rightly get up there unless it was an animal, and judging by the size and quality of the screeches it was making, it seemed like a bird, though a very large one. He shaded his eyes and looked harder; dimly, he made out the shape of a flapping wing, and felt relief. It was just a bird. It wasn't dangerous. It must have gotten caught in the branches and was struggling madly to free itself.

He felt a slight rush of wind on the left side of his head, and flinched away by reflex. A trio of songbirds flitted by and landed in the tree where the large bird was stuck. Something about them made Yoshi take a second look. He was fairly close to them, yet they paid him no heed. They were silent and still, not like proper songbirds at all; they didn't spare him a glance, but turned their beaks up to the canopy.

This solidified the notion that the trapped bird was not, despite the violence with which it screamed and struggled, dangerous, as these birds chose to fly toward it in interest instead of away in caution. Yoshi stood on his toes and sniffed; he smelled the songbirds, giving off a faint dry-dust-feather scent that all birds possessed. He smelled the nut-musk of squirrels, somewhere, and the heady bark of the tree. But a new smell he had never experienced before reached him; it was definitely bird, but not a familiar breed.

He tilted his head. Yoshies can remember every scent they ever took in, and this was one he'd never encountered. It was like a mix of bird and the crispness of snow, plus something else. . . . A baby?

Not just any baby. Through the dust and snow, he could smell a faint strain of Mario Aiolfo. This bird had come into contact with the baby somehow.

Yoshi looked up sadly amidst the raining leaves. He felt sorry for the creature, and wanted to help it; to get twisted up in branches and twigs sounded painful, especially with bothersome things like feathers. He could just dash up there, perhaps subdue it, and free it somehow. He couldn't imagine leaving it, and visualized, though he had no idea what it looked like, it struggling until its strength was spent, and it died of thirst or exposure, leaving its body to rot in a tree. That seemed like a cruel death when he was right there.

But he looked guiltily behind him as well. The baby needed help too, and the storm above was closing in fast. Storms on the island were brutal and swift; in seconds after starting it could be raining so hard one could barely see five feet away, in any direction.

And that baby. . . .

Something about it was . . . well, he was not leaving it. Something forbade him from even considering leaving it. He couldn't think of a reason why. He couldn't even think of going home without it. His mind blanked out whenever he tried. He had to take it with him.

The shriek split the air again, and Yoshi flinched, almost flattening himself to the ground. He had underestimated how loud it could be, when he was so close. He hated loud noises. He couldn't stand loud noises. Why had he come here? He should have turned tail and left the thing. Sudden and violent hate for the creature swept over him like a wave. Yes, it was trapped, but must it have been so _damn loud?_

Again it screamed. He suppressed a whimper and whirled around, convinced something was watching him. _I have to leave. I have to leave. _He could feel _eyes-_ If the thing screamed again, he would just run-

He backed up against the tree, pressing against it, covering his face. _Stop. Stop. Calm down._ His heart pounded from fear brought on by nothing. He struggled to reason with himself, to tell himself that it was just an animal, confused and hurt. It wasn't hurting him. It wouldn't hurt him. He was overreacting.

Thunder boomed suddenly overhead. He dug his fingers into the side of his face, distracting himself with pain until the panic attack subsided. He took a breath. He hadn't had one of those in a while.

When he felt like he could move, he looked up. The thing was still struggling, but not screaming anymore; perhaps it was trying not to waste its breath, whatever it was. Abruptly it paused, and uttered a low, raspy warble, long and drawn out. The sound was like a moan of pain and exhaustion, and Yoshi felt bad for being mad at it.

He wouldn't leave it here. It had the scent of Mario Aiolfo on it, and was somehow connected. He did not know what he would do with it when he freed it, or how he would transport it if he decided to take it with him, nor did he have time to think about it. The sun was gone, and the forest had turned almost supernaturally dark. Shadows flickered through the canopy, ever-changing as the clouds roiled overhead, matching the unease in Yoshi's gut.

He vaulted himself up into the tree and began to climb to the top. As he reached the branch with the three songbirds he couldn't help pausing and staring. They hadn't moved at all, and didn't even look at him. He thought they should have at least flown for cover with this storm coming.

He jumped to the next branch and nearly fell off. It wasn't just those three birds: some creature took up every branch in the tree. He saw squirrels and chipmunks, robins, sparrows, jays, crows, seagulls, lizards, even a frog. They were all still and motionless, and staring at the trapped animal above.

"Hello?" Yoshi said uncertainly, half-hoping one of them would move if they heard his voice. None did. He reached up to a squirrel and snapped his fingers in front of it. It shifted and glanced down at him for a moment, then returned its attention to above.

"Cree-py," Yoshi muttered, resuming his climb, which was made more complicated because he wanted to avoid stepping on one of them.

Yoshi reached the creature when the branches started getting thin and more easily breakable. He jumped to and balanced on the sturdiest branch he could find, saw the bird, and blurted out, "Holy hell."

The closest thing it looked like was perhaps a crane, though he didn't know any cranes that were this huge. It was short-necked and long-legged, and its wings were the largest he'd ever seen on any creature: if he had to guess, their span was almost thirteen feet. It had a long, smooth beak that was bright orange, the same color as its legs. Its plumage was white as snow except for a band of bluish black on the bottom of the long feathers of its wings. It had a black stripe running down its face from its dark eyes to its beak.

It took Yoshi a while to avert his eyes from the giant beast and see what was wrong with it. Its wings, huge and long-feathered, were caught and tangled in the branches of the tree. It looked like it had plunged from the sky and into the canopy with its wings spread, and its long plumage had gotten twisted. He could see blood staining the edges of its limbs.

He was puzzled. A bird of this size and obvious strength should have been able to free itself quite easily. He tried to see if something else was pinning it and could see nothing.

Even as he watched, it tried to wrench its wings free, squawking and sputtering and shaking leaves and twigs and drops of blood everywhere. It did not succeed in shaking loose and grew still again, its legs dangling limply and its pointed chest rising and falling rapidly; it was exhausted.

Yoshi shifted and his foot cracked the thin branch he was on. He flailed for a moment before regaining his balance, letting out a breath, before turning back and seeing the bird staring directly at him.

Immediately it reared its head back and shrieked, louder than ever before, blotting out all other sound. Yoshi recoiled, unseeing; it felt like the sky had just come crashing down on top of him, a thousand weights and a thousand screams trying to shove him off the tree.

The bird transformed; it went from short-necked to long-necked in an instant, and Yoshi realized belatedly that it had folded it back on itself. He had no time to react to this, however, as the bird's head swung and struck him in the chest, and he saw the sky rapidly disappear as he went flying out of the tree and onto the ground.

He landed on his back, on his saddle; the wind was knocked out of him and he gasped for air. He rolled over, heaving, his ears buzzing. The flesh of his saddle felt pain, but bluntly, as though it was a day-old bruise instead of just inflicted. Blood ran down his back where the skin had split and the vast network of capillaries had been damaged. If he had fallen anywhere else he would have broken his back.

The tree he had climbed seemed to explode as at once the birds and beasts leapt or flew from the branches and away, making a symphony of frantic noises. A second later a great white mass hit the ground, and he was astonished to feel the earth shake; it was the giant bird, freed now and bloody-winged. It warbled low and heaved to its feet, wings drooping, trailing blood on the ground. It locked on Yoshi and hissed savagely, like a giant cat, in an effort to intimidate, an effort it succeeded at instantly.

Yoshi scrambled to his feet, wholly unprepared to deal with this massive creature. He had never encountered a bird as large as this one, and certainly never been attacked by one. The thing looked murderous with its long sword of a beak opened wide and hissing. Its black eyes were narrow and full of hate.

With three strides it could close the distance between them; Yoshi didn't like to think of what would happen if it came for him. He knew the wing-strike of a common swan was like getting hit by a baseball bat; getting a hit from a bird as big as this would most likely break him clean in half.

The bird crouched lower, its hiss deepening, and Yoshi knew it was about to charge. He crouched, ready to jump away-

He froze. Through the trees, very faint, was the delighted giggle of a baby.

The creature froze as well, its eyes flying wide. It straightened its neck and stood tall, instantly alert; Yoshi was startled, as the thing was over eight feet tall, and now he truly grasped how big it was.

The bird opened its beak and uttered another earsplitting shriek; Yoshi clapped his hands over his ears, grimacing, and opened his eyes just in time to see the beast take off toward the sound. He stared dumbfounded. "H-_Hey!_ Get back here!" he yelled pointlessly in its wake, and ran for the child as well.

For whatever reason, the bird was going after Mario, and Yoshi didn't want to think what it would do to the tiny baby, all alone. He ran on all fours on the uneven ground, bounding after the bird through the forest. It ran like an ostrich would, its long legs a blur and its neck folded. Yoshi ran alongside it for a few yards, waited until it was close enough, and, cursing himself, dove sideways at it.

He struck it broadside with his shoulder, and the bird gave a startled squawk as they tumbled to the ground in a heap of feathers and scales. Its claws reached up and raked his arm, leaving two shallow scratches on his skin. He disentangled himself and dashed for where he hoped he remembered the child was.

Today he'd been hit in the face by a flying baby, had his ears metaphorically split several times, been hit by a giant, manic bird he was trying to help, and had had to tackle said bird to the ground. "What I get for being such a nice _fucking_ person," he snarled to himself, and sniffed the ground. The baby had definitely been nearby; he could smell its milk-spit scent, rather strong, but he couldn't see it. "Where'd you go?" he hissed helplessly, and put his nose to the ground, tracking it.

The baby had crawled into the clearing where it had fallen on him, according to its trail. He trotted into it, turning to and fro, for its scent was strongest here. A squeal, and he turned. The baby was sitting against a tree, regarding him with a look of clear delight. The white sack was wrapped around one of its fat legs.

Relief, then panic – the giant bird tumbled into the clearing, rasping and bleeding still. It regarded him with rage, and then saw the child. With a loud cry the creature started toward it, emphasizing the size of its beak, the sharpness of it.

Yoshi threw himself between them and faced the bird. It towered a foot over him, and was several tons more furious. It hissed savagely and stalked toward him, looking ready to kill.

He did not know what else to do than to spread his arms in front of the child and stare the beast down. He could provide no real protection, save a distraction, and the baby didn't seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere. But the thought of abandoning it was unthinkable; he would protect it, or die trying.

The world slowed, and he was suddenly, inexplicably angry. How _dare_ this thing try to hurt him? Hurt the baby? How dare it breathe the same air? Walk on the same ground? Crash on_ his_ island? The rage grew in him like a wave. It was just a _small little bird. _And it thought it could advance on _him?_

"Stay _back!" _he bellowed at it, feeling his chest swell with rage.

The bird placed a foot forward again, and a change came over it. At once its eyes widened, and its feathers slicked down to its body. It drew in its wings and cowered back; gone was the massive beast that could have killed him easily, replaced by a cowering, shaking, shrunken mess. It was terrified, and he was confused. It looked at him like he was a monster, and it had only truly seen him just now.

As he watched, it opened its beak and said, "Please do not kill me."

Yoshi's jaw dropped. The rage disappeared, and he simply stared, dumbfounded; he felt the desire to reverse time and make sure that he wasn't dreaming, and the bird really had just talked.

Of course he couldn't, but he didn't need to; the bird shuddered and closed its eyes. "Please do not kill me," it said again, and he could not deny it was real. Its voice was high-pitched and fluty; he couldn't discern a gender even if he tried. It was accented, and put emphasis on all the wrong syllables. He had to concentrate to make out the words. "You are only in the way, and I hope you will spare the little one, there, if you would be so kind."

Yoshi blinked, his jaw still hanging open. He stared at the bird's beak. It opened and closed to speak, yes, but how did it manage to achieve all the different sounds? It didn't have lips. But then, he supposed, he had seen others speak with only beaks-

"Oh, please do not eat me," it said suddenly, and Yoshi was greeted with the long-thought-dead notion of self-consciousness – how rude he must have been, with his mouth gaping like that. He swallowed and closed it. The giant creature regarded him warily, though with no hate anymore; rather, it looked on the verge of fleeing. It leaned back, but its head stayed low and in the same place; it still wanted the baby, he realized, and could not leave, but it was afraid of him, for whatever reason, and could not approach.

"Um," he croaked, and cleared his throat. "Um . . . you can talk."

The beast blinked, and lowered its head. "You are green."

Yoshi was taken aback, and stared dumbly at his arm, which was, indeed, green. "Yes . . . so?"

"Well, you had just said something plain," the bird said hurriedly, "and I was confused and did not want to offend you, else, I think, you would be quite angry, and I did not know how to respond, and so I suppose I just decided to do as you did, and state something plain as well."

Yoshi couldn't think of a response to this, as he had to think over the words three times, slowly, to make sense of them. Perhaps he was having so much trouble understanding it because he had been desensitized to new sounds, so accustomed was he to eight voices and eight voices only. Or, alternatively, he just could not get over the fact that such eloquent language was flying from the beak of a bird he had just met. It shifted its foot anxiously.

". . . What are you?" he asked finally.

The bird tilted its head. "What am I?"

"Yes. As in, what is the name of your species?"

"Oh, yes," the bird said, sounding relieved at a question it seemed to be able to answer easily. "I am a stork."

"Stork," Yoshi repeated, nodding as though it all made sense now, even though he had never heard of the word in his life, but wanted to appear knowledgeable so as not to offend the bird.

"And, ah, is it . . . polite, or proper, to ask, perhaps . . . what you are?" the stork tried timidly, and immediately winced when the last word was out, as though expecting a violent rebuke.

This morning he would never have imagined he would be holding a civilized conversation with an animal about a flying baby. He almost laughed at the thought, but composed himself.

"Oh, no, it's fine," Yoshi answered. "It's just-"

But the words clogged his throat. He couldn't just _say_ – he didn't know who this stork was, or how it could talk, or who it was affiliated with. Subconsciously, he could not allow himself to say what he was; wariness and suspicion dominated everything he said now. Years ago he would've given himself away without a second thought.

But the fact that the stork didn't know what he was meant it could not be, strictly, an immediate enemy, as an immediate enemy would know what he was. Even those who were not enemies had to know what he was at first sight; his kind had gotten an unwanted amount of popularity lately, if the world operated as he hoped it did.

Yet this bird acted as though he was just another person to meet, nothing special at all about him, besides the unspoken terror, of course. In a way, it was as refreshing as it was startling. If it lied, it did so oddly, and if it acted, it did so spectacularly; already he felt the urge to reassure it, and make it understand he wouldn't hurt it, so bashful and timid it had become all of a sudden.

"I'm a tricruor," he finally managed, which was true enough, though not the whole truth. The bird did not nod or say anything in recognition; rather, it stood there blankly, apparently at a loss for words. Evidently it did not know what that was either.

Baby Mario Aiolfo giggled then, and saved them from a long and awkward conversation explaining what a tricruor was. The stork took a step forward at the sound, and then shrank back again; it clearly wanted very badly to go to the child, but was too afraid to. Yoshi looked between them, and turned to pick up the baby. It waved its arms delightedly as he lifted it. He cradled it and showed it to the bird. "Why do you want this baby so badly?"

"It is mine," the stork answered. "We were flying overhead, you see, and then this very odd blue creature came and hit me on the head, but before that there were the red creatures, and they grabbed me and tore out my feathers, and it hurt rather horribly, and they had such strange faces, and made strange sounds, but anyway the blue one hit me on the head and took Luigi away, and then I fell and-" It paused finally, and tilted its head. "I do not remember after that. I woke up in a tree, and I was very scared and confused, and upset, because I did not know where Mario was. And then I saw you, and I thought you were the blue creature that had hit me, and I was very angry and wanted to kill you-"

"Okay! Okay," Yoshi interrupted, holding up his hands. "Er, please, give me a minute here. You were . . . flying overhead, you said? With Mario? Why?"

"Because I am a stork," the bird said matter-of-factly, as though this explained everything.

"And. . . ?" Yoshi prompted.

"And I am a stork," the stork repeated, puzzled. "I was delivering them, and then the blue creature hit me, and the red things too-"

"Okay okay okay, I believe you," Yoshi said hurriedly. He rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. Clearly it was akin to pulling teeth to get a short, straight, coherent answer out of this stork. It was like speaking a different language, of which he knew only a third of the words. He wanted it to stop talking so fast, and so loud, and so piercing.

There was a flash of light to their left, and the stork squawked, startled. Not a second later thunder rolled over the forest, booming and crashing, so loud it made Yoshi's bones tremble and his ears tingle. Baby Mario fell silent for once, his eyes huge. Yoshi looked up; he saw a checkerboard of black and gray, pockmarked and roiling. The storm had arrived in full and hovered over the area, and miles in every direction. Flashes of white lightning shot overhead, overlapped by crashes of thunder like waves on a beach. He felt a raindrop on his face. It would be a downpour in minutes.

He glanced back to the stork. It stared at the sky as well, shrinking down, looking nervous. "Oh, I have never been _under_ a storm before," it said timidly. "Is it always so very dark? And I feel water hitting me, and it is not pleasant at all."

"Pretty much, yes," Yoshi answered; indeed, it was almost dark enough to be nighttime, and raindrops were beginning to sprinkle his back. He glanced over his shoulder, mainly due to habit. There was nothing behind him, but still he did not like how the constantly roiling clouds made shifting phantoms among the trees. It took little to no imagination to picture enemies or monsters in the dark. The thunder did not help. He had to go home.

But what could he do with the stork? He couldn't tell if it had been telling the truth about the baby – for all he knew the thing was insane, or a deceiving baby-eater, and anyway he had only understood parts of what it had said. The baby he would not abandon, but the bird . . .

He had options. He could leave the bird and the baby to fend for themselves, but he reviled it as soon as he had conjured it. He could take the baby and leave the stork, but loathed this too; the bird, though its expressions and mannerisms were completely alien, seemed too earnest and timid to be a liar, and leaving it in the rain – which it had seemingly never experienced – would be a cruel thing to do. He could take them both home, but knew it was folly; he would not allow _anything_ near his home, least of all something that could talk and spread rumors and report to higher powers.

He wavered for a moment longer, then stepped forward. "Look, if you want to get out of this rain, just come with me. I have somewhere you can rest, and I can clean you up," he said, gesturing to the bird's wings; they were still bloody, though he thought they had stopped bleeding, and were drooping along the ground and shaking slightly.

"And maybe we can figure out what's going on with you and him," he added, indicating the baby. It was still silent. _Because I'm not leaving it now, _he adds in his head.

The stork sighed in relief, closing its eyes. "Oh, thank you, I was beginning to worry that you would leave me here." It stepped a little closer, then shied away. "Are you- you will not kill me, will you?"

"What? Of course not!" Yoshi said. "Why would you think I would kill you? Not that I couldn't," he added hastily. If the bird still held some resentment, and intended to act on it, he needed it to be at least a little wary of him.

The bird bobbed its head curiously, ignoring his question, and tried to peek into Yoshi's arms. "May I have Mario back?"

"No," he said, stepping away. He still didn't trust the bird that much yet, and his back still throbbed where he had landed after the stork had thrown him out of the tree. It was not bleeding anymore, and would heal in a day if not hours, but the skin was still mangled, and he could feel brown blood crusted on his sides.

"Oh, but he is mine, and I need him back, and Luigi too," the stork begged.

"Let me hold onto him for a while," Yoshi answered, trying not to sound rude. He would figure out whether to give the bird the baby later.

The bird lowered its head, looking sullen but not about to argue further.

"Just follow me," Yoshi said, feeling bad despite himself. "Let's get out of this rain, and maybe get you something to eat, and then we can talk, okay?"

The bird looked up at him, its eyes wide. Slowly it nodded.

Yoshi turned, but something still nagged him. He glanced back to the stork. "Mr. Stork?" he asked it awkwardly.

"Yes?" it replied, perking up.

"Before, you were about to attack me, but then you stopped. You looked terrified. Why?"

The bird stood straighter, and paused awhile before answering.

"Well, I was very angry at you for knocking me over, and I was about to kill you," it said, and tilted its head. "But then, suddenly, you just looked so very scary."

Yoshi stared at it. It didn't seem so frightened of him now, and was rather close to him. Their proximity allowed him to grasp just how huge the animal was, and how strong it must be, with its long, thick wings and muscled body. He was a foot shorter, and scrawny compared to it, to everything. Why such a creature had been scared of Yoshi was beyond him.

Thunder cracked overhead, booming and loud. Yoshi grimaced. He hated loud noises.

He set off for home, the baby in his arms and the giant stork following his footsteps.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

**This is it, folks. The big shebang. The main event. The Big One, capital T-B-O. I've carried this thing since I was nine or ten, and recently I just started developing it. Holy wow, this is going to take forever to finish (exactly 50 chapters!), but I've never been surer that I'm going to actually finish something, even if I'm a goddamn adult by the end.**

**Anyway, this first chapter has been properly written up for a year now, but last year I was swamped with work and couldn't work on anything. I just realized there is absolutely no plausible reason to horde it, so here it is, chapter one. Do not expect the next one anytime soon; I've got eight, but they all need revision. So, er, review if you want! This is a thing where reviews are going to be cruuucial. If anything is unclear, smack me in the face and I will promptly fix it. **


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